


The Tale of the Two Angry Scots

by twelveisagoodone



Series: The Tales of Us [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humour, two foul mouthed drunken scots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 04:08:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelveisagoodone/pseuds/twelveisagoodone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm was never one to have many friends. So she could only be happy when he introduced her to Jamie MacDonald, and it was only natural that she started to like him too, accepting his presence in their life, even if that meant to deal with two foul-mouthed angry Scottish men at once from time to time…</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tale of the Two Angry Scots

**Author's Note:**

> This is story is part of the Best-Shot verse. I initially wrote it just for my own amusement and wasn't really sure about publishing it (still not sure...). Though, here we go again.  
> Enjoy! And send me your thoughts!

Malcolm was never one to have many friends; she had discovered it really soon in their relationship. Years of building walls to protect himself from the nastiness and rudeness of the world of politics had made him a very private person. Besides, his resolute dedication to his work had always left him with few or none free time to socialise. And his own public persona, the professional mask he used day after day to do the work he needed to do, didn’t earn him much sympathy of those who worked with him.

So she was surprised when Malcolm had introduced her to Jamie MacDonald, a fellow Scot, an old friend from his years as a journalist in Glasgow, he told her. But the younger Scot’s fame preceded him. The angriest man in Scotland, they used to call him at the Whitehall corridors. And despite being feared by his feral behaviour and his sweary mouth, Jamie soon proved to be a really good friend of Malcolm.

So it was only natural that she liked him too and accepted his presence in their life, even if that meant to have to deal with two foul-mouthed angry Scottish men at once from time to time…

\-- 0 – 0 --

She practically jumped off the couch startled by the loud thud coming from the foyer to find Malcolm laying flat on his back on the floor. It took her last than one second to kneel beside him and hold his cold hand in between hers, concern in her eyes. He looked at her and smiled, or at least he moved his lips in something that resembled one.

“Hey,” he said, the smell of alcohol from his breath hit her like a punch and made her move her head back a few centimetres to breathe fresh air. He tried to sit and just knocked his head heavily on the floor again and she flinched.

“Ouch,” he moaned.

She sighed, hiding her mixture of amusement and concern. Malcolm didn’t use to drink that much and he always was able to hold his alcohol when he consumed more than his usual single glass of scotch after work or the bottle of wine they shared over dinner sometimes.

Of course, he had never gone out for some drinks with Jamie before (not once since she was in his life at least) and knowing how much the two of them were competitive, this was only predictable. Idiots.

“Come on, let me help you, party boy,” she held his hand and supported his back to help him to sit watching with concerned eyes while his face turned white. “How are you feeling?”

“Drunk?” He tried to lift his eyebrows but even that seemed to be a big effort and she pushed back a smile. Poor Malcolm.

“Ok. Do you think you can get on to your feet, Malc?”

He didn’t answer but she decided to take his silence as a yes and, holding on both of his hands and using her weight, helped him to stand. He groaned but managed to stand up with her help, leaning on her for support.

“Ok?”

“Ok,” he whispered between dry lips and they both leant against the wall waiting until he felt better, or in this case when he looked less pale.

“Right, then. Upstairs.”

His answer was a hiccup and she pushed back a smile. Wrapping him tightly around his narrow waist, she pulled one of his arms over her shoulders and slowly they started their long way upstairs.

“God, you smell like a distillery!”

He chuckled and they almost lost their precarious balance, forcing her to once more count on the wall to support them before they started to move again.

“You should be telling me how much do you fucking love me,” he said, his Scottish brogue was thicker and his speech slurred by all the drinking.

“And I will, as soon as you are able to understand it again,” she smiled. “Christ, Malc! For such a skinny man you are really heavy.”

“Hmm,” he tried a smirk, “Fucking big bones, sweetheart. And some other really big things,” he added smugly and she needed to slap his hand when he tried to grab her breast, once again threatening their precarious balance.

“Down, boy,” she glanced at him with amused eyes. “I don’t think you can manage anything more than a shower and sleep right now.”

He looked at her with a grimace that she was pretty sure was his attempt to raise his eyebrows and she couldn’t suppress a giggle.

“Come on, Malc. Help me here, will you?”

They finally climbed the last step and she literally dragged him into the shower, not without listening to a stream of slurred and incoherent swearing in his angry protests. After the shower she helped him into a pair of boxers and put him on the bed, avoiding his sloppy attempts to drag her with him. She still had the messy bathroom waiting for her and bravely she faced the nightmare of spread clothes and water splashes he had left behind.

But her night was only in the beginning. She had barely sat back on the bed when she heard someone knocking on the door. First, she decided to simply ignore it. It was too late and of course, they weren’t expecting anyone at that hour. Besides, anyone who wanted to talk with them would call before showing up in the middle of the night. Unless…

She sighed and wrapped herself in her housecoat, feeling her legs heavy while she walked downstairs. Silently, she approached the bay window to peer through the curtain, trying to catch a glimpse of who was the lunatic knocking at their door. But she already knew even before she saw him. Jamie. Of fucking course.

He was still knocking when she opened the front door and she had to dodge to avoid his fist of coming into her face.

“Clara,” he smiled and she almost groaned. He seemed to be twice drunk than Malcolm, as if that was possible, when he tumbled inside even without her invitation, almost knocking her on the floor in the process.

“Need talk with him.”

“He is sleeping. Same thing you should be doing right now, Jamie.”

“Please.”

He kept talking but she just couldn’t understand a thing he was saying and in vain tried to stop him. When none of her attempts of interrupting him worked, she placed her hand over his mouth and he seemed to understand her motion after half a minute of speaking through her fingers.

“Jamie, please. Malc is sleeping. And even if he weren’t, I really doubt that you two can have any kind of conversation right now.”

He stared at her with his big blue eyes, confusion all over his face. For a moment, she dwelled whether she should send him away or let him stay for the night. But then, who knew what that crazy drunk Scot would be able to do in such state. Then, even against her best judgement and knowing that she would probably regret it in the morning, she decided to take him to their guest room.

Surprisingly, his legs seemed to be functioning better than Malcolm’s and, despite his slight sway, he managed to go upstairs without any incident. In a funny contrast with Malcolm, that kept stumbling on his feet but could still manage to make a speech, alcohol seemed to completely affect Jamie’s ability to speak but did little to his legs.

Finally, she convinced him to stop babbling nonsense and let his so urgent talk with Malcolm for the next day. Placing an old Malcolm’s t-shirt and pyjama bottoms on his hands, she bid him goodnight and came back to her bedroom, closing the door behind her back.

She yawned. Two drunk Scots in one night was too much even for her. She looked at her bed where Malcolm’s lean body and long limbs were spreading all over, leaving her almost no space. Even though, she tried to lie down and get some sleep. But Malcolm was relentless. How it was something she really couldn’t understand. Considering his state of drunkenness, he should be sleeping like a dead corpse, but no. Not Malcolm. That stick-insect of a drunken Scot managed to roll and kick and mumble incomprehensible things in his sleep. Not to mention the smell. And the snoring. 

So after half an hour or so of futile attempts to sleep and avoid to be kicked out of the bed by Malcolm’s long and heavy limbs, she gave up. Taking a blanket and a pillow, she stomped to the living room to sleep on the couch, not before she placed a soft kiss in the temples of her darling nightmare in grey locks.

\-- 0 – 0 --

Malcolm woke up with a ghost of a headache growing on his temples, blurred memories of the last night on his mind. His mouth tasted like dirty socks and even though he had never eaten one, he was pretty sure of it. His stomach churned and the world spun around him as soon as he sat on the bed, so he closed his eyes again until he felt things stopping once more.

The place beside him in the bed, her place, was empty and cold, although the faint lights outside told him that it was still very early in the morning.

He desperately needed something to drink. Oh, well, not really anything. Water. Maybe coffee. Black and strong. Maybe Clara was already downstairs making some for them. Slowly, he stood up, carefully testing the stability of his feet on the ground before he gave a step. It was a little chilly out of bed and he managed to put on a pair of pyjama bottoms and a shirt he found in the chair when he failed to find his housecoat.

He yawned, rubbing his temples while he walked the hallway but then, he saw through the opened guest room door a sleeping form wrapped in blankets on the bed.

It was a rare occurrence and he could remember only two other times that it had happened before; one of them when he had, like tonight, drunk much more than he could hold in a stupid party she had dragged him in. She then had retired to the guest room really mad with him and complaining about his snoring.

With a soft smile, he walked towards the bed and slowly, slip under the blankets to press his body against hers.

\-- 0 – 0 --

Clara woke up startled with a big commotion upstairs, the number of shouting and swearing filling the air immediately telling her that Malcolm had just found out Jamie in their guest room.

Heavy footsteps ran downstairs and she lifted her eyebrows at her husband when he stormed into the living room with flushed cheeks, a horrified look on his eyes.

“What that fucking twat is doing in our guest room?” His tone was exasperated and he moved his long arm pointing the upper floor like a mad man. “And why are you sleeping on the fucking couch?”

She bit her lower lip pushing back the laugh that was bubbling in the back of her throat, knowing that he obviously must have thought that she was the one sleeping in the guest room.

“Did you try to kiss him good morning?” She was unable to contain herself anymore and the laughter erupted between the fingers of the hand she had placed to cover her mouth in a vain attempt to disguise her amusement.

Malcolm glared at her and pointed her a menacing finger, with his best bollocking face. But whatever he was thinking to tell her, he gave up in favour of storming to the kitchen in an angry pace straight to the coffee maker.

She watched him while he practically threw the coffee powder inside the machine and grabbed the counter with a bowed head, his knuckles turning white while he waited for the machine to do its job.

Clara stood up and approached him with cautious steps to slowly slip her arms around his waist. He stirred under the contact but didn’t pull back nor moved away. She knew he wasn’t really angry with her so she leant against his slim frame, resting her head between his shoulder blades and smiled against his skin when his body finally relaxed under her touch.

Her hands slipped through the front of his open shirt and slowly travelled along his bare chest in a gentle caress, fingers playing with the familiar dust of grey hair that rested there.

“Feeling better?” She murmured against his back.

He snorted.

“After thinking that my gorgeous wife had changed into a wanker of a Scot?”

She giggled and pressed a kiss on his shoulder before he turned around to envelope her with his wiry arms. His eyes softened and there was a hint of a dimple on his cheek.

“Christ! This is fuel for nightmares,” he said and scowled at her when she once more couldn’t contain a giggle. “Stop it! I’m being fucking bloody serious here. I’ll need years of fucking therapy to forget that.”

“Oh, my poor little darling,” she tiptoed to press her lips softly against his, but couldn’t stop herself asking. “Did you kiss him?”

“Oh, fuck! No!” The look on his face was one of pure terror. But then he blushed. “I just, well… Fuck! I thought it was you!” He crossed a hand through his untamed curls, his hair a little longer than it used to be just because she liked it that way. Clara held him tighter and placed a kiss on his bare chest making him sigh. “Why is he fucking sleeping here, by the way?”

“He came after you had gone to bed. Twice as drunk.”

“And she took pity on me and allowed me to stay.”

Jamie’s voice coming from behind them startled them. He was dressed in his dishevelled clothes from yesterday and looked like he had just come out of a washing machine.

Clara smiled at him and there was gratitude in the blue eyes that looked into hers.

“I’m really thankful for your hospitality, Tuckers,” he cast a mischievous glance at Malcolm. “Though the good morning greeting could’ve been less personal.”

“Oh, shut up, you twat,” Malcolm grumbled turning back to the counter to fetch three mugs and started to pour them coffee. Clara shook her head and exchanged an amused look with Jamie when he took a seat at the kitchen table, accepting the mug Malcolm offered him in silence.

She watched them both for a minute trying to figure out who looked worse. After all the excitement at this early hour, the hangover was starting to make its way on them and the two mugs rested untouched over the table. Jamie was looking at his with a quite disgusted face and certainly was paler than when he came downstairs. And Malcolm’s face was something between green and grey.

She stood and opened one of the cabinet's doors.

“Aspirin, someone?”

They both moaned. She just grinned.


End file.
